From Ashes ✗ Stiles Stilinski - Chapter 39: Chapter 39

Maddie stumbled through the Argent's front door, her feet abnormally heavy. She could at least use most of her motor functions again, which was an improvement, but her entrance still sounded like a sack of rocks crashing through and made her wince. Stiles had offered to walk her in but she was adamant that he not be seen by Allison's parents. Now that she laid on her stomach in a heap on the floor, half inside and half outside, she began to second guess that.
She hoped the house would be empty but when a shadow stretched across the floor and her gaze followed it all the way up, she groaned. There was no concern on Victoria Argent's face, but instead narrowed eyes and a sour purse. Maddie could've been bleeding out on the polished floorboards and would've probably been chastised for the mess. Still, the Argent matriarch walked over and examined her face for an awkward and unbearable moment. Victoria grabbed Maddie's upper arm and hoisted her up without a word.
In fact, she dragged Maddie all the way to the spare room without so much as a snide remark. When Maddie plopped onto her thin mattress, Victoria roughly turned girl's head and moved her hair, examining the back of her neck and sighing most likely at the cut. Out of the corner of Maddie's sight, the woman's knowing expression drained and she did a double take. She squinted at something on the back of Maddie's neck, like she recognized something terrifying. Victoria's bright blue eyes went from whatever she saw to Maddie's face.
"You weren't in the library with Allison."
"Allison can take care of herself." There was so much bitterness when she said it.
"Were you with the wolves?"
"I-"
"Don't. Lie."
"And if I was?"
"Why..." Victoria clenched her jaw. "Why did you stay?"
"Because this town is in danger," Maddie said. She gingerly touched the scabbing wound on the back of her neck. "And save the idle threats. I'm not leaving."
"You are the danger. You've brought more trouble than you're worth!" Victoria's voice raised in a mixture of anger and, perhaps, sadness. "You'll fail like all the others. You'll be dead. Your friends will be dead. Tell me, will your little crusade be worth it then?"
It was like the voice in the back of her brain had been given a face. Like her fears and memories had taken shape. Every single thing Allison's mother had said had haunted her from the day she had gotten to Beacon Hills. And for a moment, she was about to say no. At the same time, there was something that wouldn't allow her to get the word out. Instead, she swallowed the lump it formed in her throat and forced a nod. "It has to be."
Why else was I chosen for all of this?
Victoria's rage and resolve quieted into a huff and, with a slight hesitation, she began to leave. She turned on her heel and headed for the door when but, just before she was about to close it, she stopped. "Goodnight, Madeline."
Confused but too tired to ask anything further, she nodded just before the door was shut.
Maddie rolled onto her side, never mind that she didn't change or lock the door yet like she tried to do every night. She was too tired to do more than kick her boots off and wrap herself in the bunched up comforter.
☽ † ☾
It may have been minutes or hours but it wasn't long before Maddie startled awake by a knock at the door. She sat straight up in bed and gave herself little time to adjust her vision or awareness before asking, "Who is it?"
The door creaked open slightly and, from the pitch black hallway, a familiar voice replied, "It's Stiles. Can I come in?"
She groaned quietly, annoyance shooting through her brain so quickly that she was sure it was a headache, but nodded all the same. "...Sure, yeah."
Stiles tiptoed in and shut the door behind him as gently as he possibly could before walking to the far side of the room where Maddie's bed was, which was only illuminated by the moonlight from the window across from it. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and looked as if there were three separate times he wanted to say something but didn't. He looked as tired as she felt.
Maddie rubbed her eyes, which were still trying to focus on the boy standing a foot or so away. Irritation gnawed at the back of her brain, considering she slept a bit better lately and now that was being interrupted for an entirely new reason outside of the nagging reminders of failure. She glanced up at him, noting that he was still watching her with worried eyes.
"You doing alright?" he asked.
She nearly smiled. "I'm fine, Stiles. All limbs are fully functional again, I swear."
"Good!" he said a little too quickly.  "That's, ah...yeah, good."
Silence engulfed the room and not a comfortable one. The air turned thick, their words heavy and bloated between them, taking up space. There wasn't even room to take an easy breath anymore. She looked around the room, the shadows along the walls long and distorted like monsters, and finally back to him. "Is that it?"
"Uh, yeah. I guess," he said with more than a little hesitation.
Something in her chest tightened for a fraction of a second and annoyed her beyond reason. She wouldn't want him to stay anyway - and even if she did, there'd be no way. He was an idiot but he was also good, better than she'd ever admit. The real danger loomed in this house and it carried a broad sword. Nothing good stayed good here.
He backed away in inches, turned around, and made it to the door when he released a frustrated breath and stomped back over. The sound thundered and echoed in the silence as her back went rigid. He sat at the edge of her bed right next to her, a bit too close for comfort. Close enough that the tension in her whole body tightened instead of loosened.
"You know what? No, it's actually not." He was facing her, his gaze filled with such intensity that she shrank back - but only a little.
The air was leaving again, all of it sucked out of her at once. The room was dark still, the shadows on the walls eating up the light, and she couldn't see much of his face but she could still see his eyes, which seemed so much darker and closer. Caught off guard by the sheer suddenness of his movements and his proximity, her breath had caught in her throat. "What are you doing?"
Her voice sounded so soft and frail when she spoke, which even surprised her as much as it infuriated her. He had no right to be that close. He had no right tear down that wall she built around herself. It was a very nice wall. It kept her safe and made her life easier.
The muffled rumble of thunder rolled in from the outside.
"Mads, can you promise me something?" he asked, his voice quieter. For whatever reason, it made her heart beat faster and her stomach somersault. Perhaps it was only the way he was speaking to her. Perhaps it was that he seemed closer than before, like he was inching towards her and she didn't register the change until he was inches away. Or maybe it was the fact that his stare kept drifting from her eyes to her mouth.
"What?" she vaguely heard herself say. It was almost like she could see the whole scene from the outside. She could see herself getting all doe-eyed and helpless and she could see him being nervous and unsure of himself. She could see the rain hitting the window pane.
Was it always raining?
"Just...don't freak out, okay?" was the last thing that spilled from his lips as he closed the small distance to meet hers.
Everything felt fuzzy and hazy, but she could feel a warmth exploding in her chest as she moved her mouth against his slowly. Like she was holding on for dear life, but maybe even letting something go. She wanted to burst into tears - even if she couldn't anymore.
Something was off though. Something felt wrong.
She...wanted this. Maybe not until now, not until it was happening because anything before wouldn't make sense, but that wasn't what felt wrong about it. It didn't feel real. She was still on the outside, viewing this and her body was a puppet she controlled from a distance. There was no warmth, no electric humming. She couldn't feel his breath on her skin or taste his lips or inhale the familiar scent of him. It was like no one was there.
He might as well have not been there at all.
☽ † ☾
Her eyes opened as her alarm clock rang from her nightstand and she stared at the ceiling in the dark. The moment she shut off the phone, she also listened for the rain and the anxiety of its potential presence. Its absence left her both relieved and utterly cold.
Moments ago, she was staring at Stiles, she was...
Her mind was clearing and it made her stomach do another somersault. She kissed Stiles. She wanted to kiss Stiles. Stiles Stilinski.
Well, technically, that wasn't true. If anything, that kiss was what alerted her to the fact that she was just dreaming it all up. She'd kissed someone before; there was a clear difference. Loads more senses being used, like touch and smell and taste...
Maddie didn't want to think about it. She wasn't going to think about it. It was her subconscious giving her these nonsensical ideas; it was probably a result of stress, like the shadows and the storm. It was her stress making her think about kissing him as she laid there, staring at the ceiling. She couldn't get the image out of her brain now and grabbed the pillow from under her head, placing it over her face.
She groaned from under her pillow and squeezed her eyes shut, pushing the images away. There were much more important things she had to deal with at the moment.
She just had to focus and remember what they were.
☽ † ☾
Buffy rolled her sore shoulder again, a little annoyed that it still ached.
After her not-so-pleasant experience the night prior, she made it a point to try and get some sleep - sort of. Really it was Xander, Willow, and Dawn that made it a point for her to get some sleep. Then again, there was no sleeping with the news she received only hours before.
A girl was chosen.
Another   girl was chosen.
Sure, girls were chosen all the time anymore. The moment they're born, even before their power manifests, they're slayers because that was the deal and the price they paid.
This was completely different than any other time. This grated against all of her senses, like a pressing the wrong puzzle piece into the only open spot. Whoever took this power pushed their way in, forcing through something they couldn't possibly fathom. Buffy couldn't even imagine who would want this life but whoever did this was one of them, like it or not. Now, they just had to find her.
She hauled herself up three flights of steps in an older brick building, grumbling about the smell of mold in the walls. Willow had called it 'earthy', but Buffy knew she was really calling it 'affordable'. It was difficult to find a decent apartment in the Bay Area as it was, but, even worse, it was outrageously expensive. The only reason they had a headquarters in the heart of the city was because she had taken a page out of her ex's book and rented out an abandoned building. Of course, there were other important resources.
Then again, HQ wasn't actually abandoned until she and the girls cleaned it out. "Vamp nests. Gotta love 'em."
Buffy didn't expect everyone to stay there forever. Sure, Xander did, but Willow seemed to enjoy her own space after years of preteen girls not giving them a break. She respected that.
Once Buffy reached the door on the fourth floor, she didn't even bother knocking but instead twisted the knob and walked right in. The living room was washed in dim amber light and the smell of sage flooded her nose. Her vision went to the carpet, old papers were sprawled and nearly covering the whole floor. Across the room from the map was a small wooden card table that had a large, open book with yellowed pages and handwritten words filling them. Two long-wicked candles were set on either side of the book, one white and one red, already lit.
As Buffy shut the door behind her, Willow rushed in from the hallway. Buffy looked over at her friend and folded her arms. "Everything ready?"
"Just gotta grab my dagger from the dishwasher," Willow replied and almost immediately frowned. "Not a whole lot of phrases I thought I'd never say, but that's definitely one of 'em."
Buffy gave Willow a tight smile as she hustled to the kitchen. Buffy always appreciated Will's lighthearted attitude in the face of ever-intensifying circumstances, but this was something bigger than they'd seen in a long time. The slayer line wasn't something easily tampered with, so whoever created a whole new slayer had to be powerful - and something told her that they probably didn't have the best of intentions either.
Once Willow reentered the room, she met Buffy in the center and held out her free hand. Buffy hesitated a moment. "So what will this do?"
"Basically, we're summoning the first slayer to give us a name - in theory, at least." Willow walked over to her book, her brows furrowing before looking back over at Buffy. "Or it could set the whole room on fire and I lose my security deposit. Really not sure yet."
Comforting as always.
"What about scrying? Isn't that what we did with the others?"
"The others were called with the power of the scythe," another familiar voice piped up. Also exiting the hallway was a tall and fair brunette, who she quickly identified as her sister Dawn, waving around a bundled up stick of what looked like dried grass with one side releasing smoke. Buffy wrinkled her nose as the smoke curled around her, filling her senses with only the familiarity she'd associate with death and rotten meat. "This slayer wasn't made the same way at all. We don't even know how she was called and there's nothing we can really go on aside from the word of a grumpy spirit."
"So, let's make her grumpier by waking her up," Buffy grumbled, trying not to breathe in the awful smell by waving the smoke away. "Sounds like an A plus plan."
"You betcha," Willow agreed almost as sarcastically. She sighed and walked over to the card table, snatching a small, marble bowl with her free hand from next to her book before looking back to Buffy. "Okay, I think we're ready."
Dawn continued to wave the bundle of smelly herbs as Buffy walked over to Willow, extending her right hand. Willow placed the bowl under her friend's hand and used the dagger in her other hand to hesitantly slice open a small cut in Buffy's open palm. She didn't even wince a little, even as she squeezed her hand into a fist and several tiny droplets of blood fell into the bowl.
Whatever else had been in the bowl - probably oils and herbs - Willow crushed with a matching marble pestle into the blood to make a sticky paste. She started muttering in an indecipherable language and the flames on the blackened candle wicks began to dance as she finger painted a design on the tabletop with the mixture she'd made, her words getting louder and louder as she went on. The cut on Buffy's hand started burning.
A shadow on the wall behind Willow grew, although it looked nothing like the woman's actual shadow. The edges of the shadow seemed jagged but before Buffy could get a better look, she had blinked once and it was gone.
The candles went out on a nonexistent wind. Willow kept chanting, as if this was expected.
The top of the table ignited into large, angry flames, illuminating all three women in an orange hue. Three, as in technically more than three. Buffy meant to include herself in that count, making the number four - because there was someone in front of her. A hunched over shadow of a woman with wild hair. She was snarling and her black eyes were burning into Buffy's with an overabundance of malice.
Caught off guard by the sudden appearance, Buffy doubled over in pain when the girl kicked her to the ground. Without a second's notice, the menacing image of the first slayer pinned Buffy to the floor by the throat and used their other hand to cover her eyes.
Darkness enveloped her sight for only a moment before flashes of images zoomed past. Many of the images flashed so quickly that she couldn't hold onto them, but she caught a few that were so startling, they burned behind her eyes. A room filled with guns of all kinds. Arrow heads. The smell of smoke turned to rotten meat, then switched to gun powder. She could hear howling in the distance. Severed bodies lay scattered among the trees and dead leaves.
Buffy's vision focused and, among the bare trees and darkness of the wilderness, a girl with a pale complexion and dark curls manifested out of the shadows. Her face was blotted and blurry but Buffy instead focused on the weapon in the girl's hands. A compact bow. She grabbed an arrow and pulled the string back, aiming at Buffy.
The girl let go of the bow string and the arrow sped toward Buffy.
She could've sworn it hit her in the chest.
The scenery shifted to the ceiling of Willow's living room and Buffy gasped for air. The light above her was a glaring yellow and making it hard to focus her vision as she sat straight up, clutching her chest where the wound should have been. There was nothing there - no arrow, no blood. Once her eyes finally adjusted to the light, there were Dawn and Willow sitting on either side of her, both wearing frantic and concerned expressions.
Buffy exhaled a deep breath in relief and lightly touched her aching temple.
"You okay there?" Willow asked.
Buffy nodded weakly and grunted at the dull ache in her back. "Peachy. Not to say it wouldn't be nice if every encounter with the First Slayer didn't end in excruciating pain and bad omens."
Dawn shrugged, trying at a meek smile. "Hey, it could've been worse."
"Yeah, she could've invaded our dreams and tried to kill us all in our sleep!" Willow said and added, "Oh, wait..."
"As long as all I have to worry about are creepy visions, I think I can handle that much, but we still have no lead," Buffy mumbled as she cracked her neck. Of course, just as she said it, she noted the exchange of worried glances between Willow and Dawn. "What? What's with the looks?"
Both Dawn and Willow stood up as their eyes traveled over to the wooden table. A boulder dropped into Buffy's gut as she slowly got to her feet and followed the stares. The supplies that were previously on the table were scattered all over the floor and the table itself was certainly charred.
Not all of it, though.
On the surface were two words, permanently etched into the wood in jagged, blackened letters.
BEACON HILLS